It seems to me I do my best work
When my mind is pre-occupied
Whether it be with worry or drink
My hand finds the pen and I write.

I seem to spill all of my secrets
So easily without my walls
That moment with my barriers shatter
And my unfiltered thoughts begin to fall.

Landing from my pen to the pages
Settling onto parchment in the ink
Until my thoughts have a permanent place
And they’re no longer a struggle to think

In wondering what I should make of them
Or even what I should do
They’re simply a thought laid to rest there
Like a foot print made by my shoe.

Maybe one day I will read them again
But the lack of requirement soothes me
Although it seems that a small about of hindsight
Would then again, behoove me

Then maybe I could avoid my mistakes
And live a life without the animosity
The same string of fears which seems to follow me
Until at last it releases me,
When, empty, I lay down my pen.
Until the next time, when I start to write again.
07/21/14